PURSUIT.
Arrived at Mortlake, when Mr. Longcluse had discovered with certainty
the flight of Alice Arden, his first thought was that Sir Richard had
betrayed him. There was a momentary paroxysm of insane violence, in
which, if he could only have discovered that he was the accomplice of
Alice's escape, I think he would have killed him.
It subsided. How could Alice Arden have possessed such an influence over
this man, who seemed to hate her? He sat down, and placed his hand to
his broad, pale forehead, his dark eyes glaring on the floor, in what
seemed an intensity of thought and passion. He was seized with a violent
trembling fit. It lasted only for a few minutes. I sometimes think he
loved that girl desperately, and would have made her an idolatrous
husband.
He walked twice or thrice up and down the great parlour in which they
sat, and then with cold malignity said to Sir Richard--
"But for you she would have married me; but for you I should have
secured her now. _Consider_, how shall I settle with you?"
"Settle how you will--do what you will. I swear (and he did swear hard
enough, if an oath could do it, to satisfy any man) I've had _nothing_
to do with it. I've never had a hint that she meditated leaving this
place. I can't conceive how it was done, nor who managed it, and I know
no more than you do where she is gone." And he clenched his vehement
disclaimer with an imprecation.
Longcluse was silent for a minute.
"She has gone, I assume, to David Arden's house," he said, looking down.
"There is no other house to receive her in town, and she does not know
that he is away still. She knows that Lady May, and other friends, have
gone. She's _there_. The will makes you, colourably, her guardian. You
shall claim the custody of her person. We'll go there, and remove her."
Old Sir Reginald's will, I may remark, had been made years before, when
Richard was not twenty-two, and Alice little more than a child, and the
baronet and his son good friends.
He stalked out. At the steps was his trap, which was there to take Levi
into town. That gentleman, I need not say, he did not treat with much
ceremony. He mounted, and Sir Richard Arden beside him; and, leaving the
Jew to shift for himself, he drove at a furious pace down the avenue.
The porter placed there by Longcluse, of course, opened the gate
instantaneously at his call. Outside stood a cab, with a trunk on it. An
old woman at the lodge-window, knocking and clamouring, sought
admission.
"Let no one in," said Longcluse sternly to the man, who locked the iron
gate on their passing out.
"Hallo! What brings _her_ here? That's the old housekeeper!" said
Longcluse, pulling up suddenly.
It was quite true. Her growing uneasiness about Alice had recalled the
old woman from the North. Martha Tansey, who had heard the clang of the
gate and the sound of wheels and hoofs, turned about and came to the
side of the tax-cart, over which Longcluse was leaning. In the brilliant
moonlight, on the white road, the branches cast a network of black
shadow. A patch of light fell clear on the side of the trap, and on
Longcluse's ungloved hand as he leaned on it.
"Here am I, Martha Tansey, has lived fifty year wi' the family, and what
for am I shut out of Mortlake now?" she demanded, with stern audacity.
A sudden change, however, came over her countenance, which contracted in
horror, and her old eyes opened wide and white as she gazed on the back
of Longcluse's hand, on which was a peculiar star-shaped scar. She drew
back with a low sound, like the growl of a wicked old cat; it rose
gradually to such a yell and a cry to God as made Richard's blood run
cold, and lifting her hand toward her temple, waveringly, the old woman
staggered back, and fell in a faint on the road.
Longcluse jumped down and hammered at the window. "Hallo!" he cried to
the man, "send one of your people with this old woman; she's ill. Let
her go in that cab to Sir Richard Arden's house in town; you know it."
And he cried to the cabman, "Lift her in, will you?"
And having done his devoir thus by the old woman, he springs again into
his tax-cart, snatches the reins from Sir Richard, and drives on at a
savage pace for town.
Longcluse threw the reins to Sir Richard when they reached David Arden's
house, and himself thundered at the door.
They had searched Mortlake House for Alice, and that vain quest had not
wasted more than half-an-hour. He rightly conjectured that, if Alice had
fled to David Arden's house, some of the servants who received her must
be still on the alert. The door is opened promptly by an elderly servant
woman.
"Sir Richard Arden is at the door, and he wants to know whether his
sister, Miss Arden, has arrived here from Mortlake."
"Yes, Sir; she's up-stairs; but not by no means well, Sir."
Longcluse stepped in, to secure a footing, and beckoning excitedly to
Sir Richard, called, "Come in; all right. Don't mind the horse; it will
take its chance." He walked impatiently to the foot of the stairs, and
turned again toward the street door.
At this moment, and before Sir Richard had time to come in, there come
swarming out of David Arden's study, most unexpectedly, nearly a dozen
men, more than half of whom are in the garb of gentlemen, and some three
of them police. Uncle David himself, in deep conversation with two
gentlemen, one of whom is placing in his breast-pocket a paper which he
has just folded, leads the way into the hall.
As they there stand for a minute under the lamp, Mr. Longcluse, gazing
at him sternly from the stair, caught his eye. Old David Arden stepped
back a little, growing pale, with a sudden frown.
"Oh! Mr. Arden?" says Longcluse, advancing as if he had come in search
of him.
"That's enough, Sir," cries Mr. Arden, extending his hand peremptorily
toward him; and he adds, with a glance at the constables, "_There's_ the
man. That is Walter Longcluse."
Longcluse glances over his shoulder, and then grimly at the group before
him, and gathered himself as if for a struggle; the next moment he walks
forward frankly, and asks, "What is the meaning of all this?"
"A warrant, Sir," answers the foremost policeman, clutching him by the
collar.
"No use, Sir, making a row," expostulates the next, also catching him by
the collar and arm.
"Mr. Arden, can you explain this?" says Mr. Longcluse coolly.
"You may as well give in quiet," says the third policeman, producing the
warrant. "A warrant for murder. Walter Longcluse, _alias_ Yelland Mace,
I arrest you in the Queen's name."
"There's a magistrate here? Oh! yes, I see. How d'ye do, Mr. Harman? My
name is Longcluse, as you know. The name Mays, or any other _alias_,
you'll not insult me by applying to me, if you please. Of course this is
obvious and utter trumpery. Are there informations, or what the devil is
it?"
"They have just been sworn before me, Sir," answered the magistrate, who
was a little man, with a wave of his hand, and his head high.
"Well, really! don't you _see_ the absurdity? Upon my soul! It _is_
really _too_ ridiculous! You won't inconvenience me, of course,
unnecessarily. My own recognisance, I suppose, will do?"
"Can't entertain your application; quite out of the question," said his
worship, with his hands in his pockets, rising slightly on his toes, and
descending on his heels, as he delivered this sentence with a stoical
shake of his head.
"You'll send for my attorney, of course? I'm not to be humbugged, you
know."
"I must tell you, Mr. Longcluse, I can't listen to such language,"
observes Mr. Harman sublimely.
"If you have informations, they are the dreams of a madman. I don't
blame any one here. I say, policeman, you need not hold me quite so
hard. I only say, joke or earnest, I can't make head or tail of it; and
there's not a man in London who won't be shocked to hear how I've been
treated. Once more, Mr. Harman, I tender bail, any amount. It's too
ridiculous. You can't really have a difficulty."
"The informations are very strong, Sir, and the offence, you know as
well as I do, Mr. Longcluse, is not bailable."
Mr. Longcluse shrugged, and laughed gently.
"I may have a cab or something? My trap's at the door. It's not solemn
enough, eh, Mr. Harman? Will you tell one of your fellows to pick up a
cab? Perhaps, Mr. Arden, you'll allow me a chair to sit down upon?"
"You can sit in the study, if you please," says David Arden.
And Longcluse enters the room with the police about him, while the
servant goes to look for a cab. Sir Richard Arden, you may be sure, was
not there. He saw that something was wrong, and he had got away to his
own house. On arriving there, he sent to make inquiry, cautiously, at
his uncle's, and thus learned the truth.
Standing at the window, he saw his messenger return, let him in himself,
and then considered, as well as a man in so critical and terrifying a
situation can, the wisest course for him to adopt. The simple one of
flight he ultimately resolved on. He knew that Longcluse had still two
executions against him, on which, at any moment, he might arrest him. He
knew that he might launch at him, at any moment, the thunderbolt which
would blast him. He must wait, however, until the morning had confirmed
the news; that certain, he dared not act.
With a cold and fearless bearing, Longcluse had by this time entered the
dreadful door of a prison. His attorney was with him nearly the entire
night.
David Arden, as he promised, had dictated to him in outline the awful
case he had massed against his client.
"I don't want any man taken by surprise or at disadvantage; I simply
wish for truth," said he.
A copy of the written statement of Paul Davies, whatever it was worth,
duly witnessed, was already in his hands; the sworn depositions of the
same person, made in his last illness, were also there. There were also
the sworn depositions of Vanboeren, who _had_, after all, recovered
speech and recollection; and a deposition, besides, very unexpected, of
old Martha Tansey, who swore distinctly to the scar, a very peculiar
mark indeed, on the back of his left hand. This the old woman had
recognised with horror, at a moment so similar, as the scar, long
forgotten, which she had for a terrible moment seen on the hand of
Yelland Mace, as he clutched the rail of the gig while engaged in the
murder.
The plaster masks, which figured in the affidavits of Vanboeren, and of
David Arden, were re-cast from the moulds, and made an effectual
identification, corroborated, in a measure, by Mr. Plumes' silhouette of
Yelland Mace.
Other surviving witnesses had also turned up, who had deposed when the
murder of Harry Arden was a recent event. The whole case was, in the
eyes of the attorney, a very awful one. Mr. Longcluse's counsel was
called up, like a physician whose patient is _in extremis_, at dead of
night, and had a talk with the attorney, and kept his notes to ponder
over.
As early as prison rules would permit, he was with Mr. Longcluse, where
the attorney awaited him.
Mr. Blinkinsop looked very gloomy.
"Do you despair?" asked Mr. Longcluse sharply, after a long
disquisition.
"Let me ask you one question, Mr. Longcluse. You have, before I ask it,
I assume, implicit confidence in us; am I right?"
"Certainly--implicit."
"If you are innocent, we might venture on a line of defence which may
possibly break down the case for the Crown. If you are guilty, that line
would be fatal." He hesitated, and looked at Mr. Longcluse.
"I know such a question has been asked in like circumstances, and I have
no hesitation in telling you that I am _not_ innocent. Assume my guilt."
The attorney, who had been drumming a little tattoo on the table,
watches Longcluse earnestly as he speaks, suspending his tune, now
lowers his eyes to the table, and resumed his drumming slowly with a
very dismal countenance. He had been talking over the chances with this
eminent counsel, Mr. Blinkinsop, Q.C., and he knew what his opinion
would now be.
"One effect of a judgment in this case is forfeiture?" inquired Mr.
Longcluse.
"Yes," answered counsel.
"Everything goes to the Crown, eh?"
"Yes; clearly."
"Well, I have neither wife nor children. I need not care; but suppose I
make my will now; that's a good will, ain't it, between this and
judgment, if things should go wrong?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Blinkinsop. "No judgment no forfeiture."
"And now, Doctor, don't be afraid; tell me truly, shall I _do_?" said
Mr. Longcluse, leaning back, and looking darkly and steadily in his
face.
"It is a nasty case."
"Don't be afraid, I say. I should like to know, are the chances two to
one against me?"
"I'm afraid they are."
"Ten to one? Pray say what you think."
"Well, I think so."
Mr. Longcluse grew paler. They were all three silent. After about a
minute, he said, in a very low tone,--
"You don't think I have a chance? Don't mislead me."
"It is very gloomy."
Mr. Longcluse pressed his hand to his mouth. There was a silence.
Perhaps he wished to hide some nervous movement there. He stood up,
walked about a little, and then stood by Mr. Blinkinsop's chair, with
his fingers on the back of it.
"We must make a great fight of this," said Mr. Longcluse suddenly.
"We'll fight it hard; we must win it. We _shall_ win it, by----"
And after a short pause, he added gently,--
"That will do. I think I'll rest now; more, perhaps, another time.
Good-bye."
As they left the room, he signed to the attorney to stay.
"I have something for you--a word or two."
The attorney turned back, and they remained closeted for a time.